


Visions of Sugarplums

by Darling_Pretty



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Hallmark Christmas Movie AU, listen there is a large you've got mail influence here too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 10:50:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19868410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darling_Pretty/pseuds/Darling_Pretty
Summary: Written for Steggy Week 2019 Day 4: AU/CrossoverA snippet of a Hallmark Christmas Movie AU.Peggy Carter is the most in-demand corporate lawyer at The SSR, leaving her little time to date. Just when she's set up blind-texting a guy who might be perfect, SSR client, Hydra, wants to acquire franchise rights to a small bakery run by a surly baker. It's up to her to convince him to sell.





	Visions of Sugarplums

**Author's Note:**

> So Hallmark runs Christmas movies all of July and this entirely inspired by this (and perhaps the drinking game that goes along with them). I was going to post the whole thing, but then it fully got away from me and now it’s thousands of words, so you’ll have to wait for the whole thing. In the meantime, enjoy the first part in all its raw, unformatted glory.

“No.”

Angie’s voice is insistent and her hands are on her hips. She clearly means business. Peggy raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Put the cell phone down, Peggy Carter. Right now.”

Peggy, who has her phone pulled out underneath the table and out of sight, jumps slightly. “How do you do that?”

“You’re thinking about calling Fred. Knock it off.”

“I-” She’s taken by surprise and doesn’t bother to deny it.

Angie reaches over and plucks the phone from her hand. “It’s the holiday season and as your best friend and self-appointed dumb-decision preventer, I’m confiscating this.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Yes, you were. You were totally about to holiday dial your ex.”

The tone of voice tells Peggy not to dare argue. And she really doesn’t have a leg to stand on anyway. “Holiday dial?”

“Yeah, like drunk dialing, only worse,” Angie scoffs. “No booze, all pathetic.”

Peggy sighs, dropping her chin into one hand. She’s been thinking of Fred a lot lately, with the holidays. Her mother is bound to ask what had happened—Amanda _loved_ Fred. Probably more than she loves Peggy on most days.

“He was a jerk, Peg. Remember last year? Remember the Christmas party?”

And she does. He’d gotten sloshed, not that Peggy had been much better. In his drunken state, he’d made some ill-advised comments about when Peggy was _his_ wife. It certainly wasn’t what she’d pictured for herself. A heated row, fueled on by too much whiskey, in front of all the guests and it all concluded with the end of the longest relationship Peggy’s ever had.

She’s over the anger mostly, and she doesn’t really want Fred back in her life, but God, she misses having that buffer at the holidays, someone to kiss under the mistletoe and make sarcastic comments in her ear when things felt too overwhelming.

Angie taps away at Peggy’s phone—how she got the passcode, Peggy’s not sure, but she never underestimates her best friend’s resourcefulness. “There. No more number.”

“Angie!”

“Can’t call a number you don’t know. Come on, English. Time to move on. Time to find someone else.”

The noise that comes from the back of her throat surprises Peggy. “Angie, I barely have time for lunch these days, let alone _dates_.”

Her best friend pulls down the menu from in front of Peggy’s face, fixing her with a serious look. “Peggy, when’s the last time you got laid?”

She thinks for a moment. “Point taken.”

“And I know just the guy.”

Peggy, who had assumed they were speaking in mere hypotheticals, gapes. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

“I know just who to set you up with.”

“Angie, I’m not going on a blind date!”

Angie’s watch starts beeping insistently. “Well, would you look at that?” she comments blandly. “Lunch break’s over. I’ll give him your contact info later.” With a waggle of her fingers, Angie disappears behind the café’s counter.

“ _You_ own the café!” Peggy calls futilely. “You control when your lunch is over!”

A moment later, Angie reappears, apron tied staunchly in place. Peggy’s about to start complaining when her friend snatches her nearly full coffee cup from in front of her, announcing, “And no more coffee for you. You’re going to give yourself an ulcer,” before disappearing yet again.

Sighing, Peggy leaves a tenner as a tip before heading back to work.

. . .

The SSR offices are in a flurry when she arrives. “Carter!” Phillips bellows.

She purses her lips and waits for him to arrive at her desk. “Yes, sir?”

He drops a hefty file in front of her. “New case—acquisition for Hydra. Pierce wants it done by New Year. Merry Christmas.”

“But—”

“You’re the best corporate attorney we’ve got on staff. Pierce pays this firm several hundreds of thousands of dollars a year to keep the best on retainer. Ergo, it’s your case.”

The word she utters under her breath probably isn’t professional, but Phillips just snorts. “Merry Christmas, Carter.”

He’s gone before she realizes he’s left a tin of cookies and a gift certificate for her favorite coffee shop on her desk.

The old softie.

. . .

Peggy’s good at corporate law; she has the wherewithal to sift through dry documents and research, and is intimidating enough when dealing with opposing counsel. That didn’t mean she necessarily enjoys it. Sometimes it’s interesting—she’d once sued on behalf of a non-profit. That had put her on the map professionally and felt good, but overwhelmingly it’s a dry field.

She hates that Hydra Enterprises kept SSR on retainer—Pierce and his lackeys tend to use lawyers as their on-command bullies. Looking at the file, this case is no different.

Hydra wants to acquire a local bakery and turn it into a franchise. Thus far, the owner has refused to sell, regardless of offer. Peggy isn’t sure if she admires the fortitude or finds the stubbornness incredibly stupid. Hydra had never been squeamish about exploiting loopholes to get their way. And it’s currently Peggy’s job to find said legal loopholes to exploit.

Still, that doesn’t mean she can’t try to make this all happen civilly. Maybe she can find a quick solution and be done before Christmas. Typing quickly, she shoots off a quick email to Rogers, requesting a face-to-face meeting and extending the offer of an equitably satisfactory compromise. Completely non-threatening.

It takes her by surprise when she gets a response about ten minutes later.

Ms. Carter,

As I’ve told every pitchman from Hydra, Shield’s is not for sale. Sorry to waste your time.

-SG Rogers

Peggy frowns. So much for pleasant.

. . .

She’s almost forgotten her meeting with Angie by the time she wakes the next day. Her head throbs—she’d fallen asleep with her head on the desk in her study, documents still open.

She only wakes because her phone buzzes. She frowns—an unfamiliar local number flashes across the screen.

**> >** Hi, Peggy. This is awkward but Angie gave me your number. I promised I’d say hi and she kind of scares me, so I’m following through.

**> >** This is Steve, by the way.

It’s a fairly charming text; Peggy smiles slightly before thinking better of it. After a moment, she taps a reply.

**>** Hi, Steve. Don’t worry- Angie scares me too.

His response comes almost immediately.

**> >**You wouldn’t think someone so small could be so intimidating.

Peggy laughs almost out loud and types back,

**>** I have found that intimidation has very little to do with stature and everything to do with attitude.

**> >**Ah. So that explains why my mother was always so terrifying.

**>** Don’t you work?

**> >**I was out on a delivery. I’ve got to get back actually.

**>** Well, thank you for the text. I’ll tell Angie you’ve done your duty.

**> >**Have a good day, Peggy.

**>** You too, Steve.

She’s surprised at the power a simple exchange has on her mood. While she’s not naïve enough to expect anything or even to believe they’ll talk again, it’s good to know at least Angie’s off her back.

Going into work, Peggy’s decent mood continues. The case for Hydra is going to take a lot of work, but at least she hadn’t been planning on going home for the holidays. And if she’s really busy, her friends and their interrogations and set-up efforts can be avoided.

Rogers’ email still sits in her inbox. In the light of day, Peggy’s more inclined to try again for a resolution, perhaps a bit more insistently this time.

Mr. Rogers,

I really must insist on a face-to-face meeting. I’d prefer that to any possible meeting in a more formal setting. I will contact your secretary for a lunch later today.

-Margaret Carter, Esq.

Within minutes, probably tapped out on a smartphone:

Ms. Carter,

I’ll meet you for lunch tomorrow at D’Agastinos. What time works for you?

-SG Rogers

Mr. Rogers,

12:30. Don’t be late.

-Margaret Carter, Esq.

. . .

She meets Angie for drinks that night—out of the café, Angie wears jeans and a mint sweater that looks incredibly soft. In her blazer and trousers, Peggy feels a pang of jealousy.

“So did Steve text you?” Angie asks the moment her cocktail, a fruity seasonal thing made with champagne, is in front of her.

“He did, actually,” Peggy’s proud to respond. She smiles up at the server who delivers her whiskey sour in front of her and when she’s gone points out, “She’s cute.”

“Not my type,” Angie says off-handedly. “And I’m not looking these days.”

“Wait, _what_?! Since when?”

“Oh, hush, Peg. You’ll meet her soon. So what’d you think of Steve.”

“I exchanged three texts with him. What’s her name?”

“Nat—she’s an accountant. Very busy. Kind of like somebody else I know… and that’s all you’re getting.”

Peggy sighs. She knows the pout on Angie’s face means business. “Well, I’m glad you’re happy, Angie. No once deserves it more.”

“Wish I could say the same for you…”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Angie!” Peggy huffs. “I’m _fine_.”

“You work 60 hour workweeks, I’m your only friend, and I know for a fact you’ve been celibate for at least six months.”

“Angie!”

“It’s Christmas, Peg. It’s a time to be with people. And get laid.”

Peggy snorts and takes another drink. “You know who says things like that?”

“Hmm?”

“Only people getting laid.”

. . .

She’s almost ready for bed—just needs to wash her face—when her phone buzzes.

**> >**Did you have a good day?

**>** I did, actually. Did Angie threaten you again?

**> >**She did, actually.

**>** Well, at least you’re not dumb enough to argue.

**> >**I learned not to do that a LONG time ago… Sweet dreams, Peggy.

**>** Good night, Steve.

. . .

She rises bright and early, wanting to brush up on the details of the case before meeting with Rogers. She runs late into the office, but thankfully it goes unnoticed. Peggy makes a note to work later than usual that evening. And at least her lunch is billable time today. She couriers out several contracts for other cases before gathering her briefcase and purse.  


D’Agastinos is crowded, but Peggy is shown to a private room—a power play by Rogers, no doubt, but it still surprises her.

But even more surprising is Rogers himself. He’s obviously tall, though he’s sitting. His shoulders are broad; he wears a suit that seems barely up to the task of containing him. He’s got sandy blond hair and when he turns, she’s stricken by the clear blue of his eyes. Not exactly a stereotypical bakery owner.

He stands when she enters—he gives off the aura of someone who served in the military, but he’s clearly not any more. He’s got a jaw of granite, but it’s softened by a full, well-groomed beard.

“Ms. Carter.” Rogers voice is deep, deeper than she expected, and he shakes her hand firmly.

“Mr. Rogers.”

“Please sit.”

They stare at each other across the table for a moment while the server pours water. Yet again, Peggy finds herself stuck on just how blue his eyes are.

“You asked for this meeting,” Rogers points out, sounding almost amused. The smugness chafes Peggy the wrong way, but it at least wakes her up.

“Mr. Rogers, I have no intention of beating around the bush. I work for SSR—a law firm employed by Hydra Enterprises. Alexander Pierce is hoping to franchise your bakery.”

“No.”

“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Rogers. They’re prepared to pay you a fortune. They aren’t asking for anything but the building and a franchise.”

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly.

“Mr. Rogers-”

He stands. “Like I said, Ms. Carter, Shield is not for sale.”

She follows suit, lips curving down into a frown. “Mr. Rogers, I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation.” Peggy doesn’t want appreciate the way that his cold gaze is directed at her; it stirs up the temper she tries so hard to keep calm. She’s _trying_ to help him here. “If Alexander Pierce wants something, he has an endless supply of money that he can use to exhaust anyone who will stand in his way.”

Rogers looms over her; Peggy stands straighter. “And _you_ don’t understand me, Ms. Carter. I don’t deal with bullies, even pretty ones. Your fancy suit and legal jargon don’t scare me. Next time, you can talk to my legal counsel.”

He tosses a twenty-dollar bill down on the table—though neither of them has ordered anything—and storms off, leaving Peggy alone.

. . .

She stares at her phone, debating. After such a rough day, Peggy’s exhausted and in desperate need of distraction, but this is Angie’s night to do the café’s bookkeeping. Finally, Peggy makes up her mind and taps out:

>I hope your day was substantially better than mine.

She’s surprisingly pleased when Steve texts back immediately.

>>Rough day?

>You have no idea. I had my head bitten off just for trying to help someone.

>>Should I beat someone up for you?

Peggy laughs out loud, curling up on her sofa with her phone.

>Thanks, but I can take care of myself.

>>Good, because my bark is worse than my bite.

>I appreciate the offer though. How was your day?

The little bubble signifying his response hangs for a moment, then disappears. And then after a moment, it reappears.

>>Let’s just say this is a marked improvement.

>Should I beat someone up for you?

>>No, but this is helping.

Peggy smiles. They chat for a while longer as she finishes her nightly routine. It’s not consequential, but she’s surprised at how easily the conversation comes—and how the stress of the day melts away. She falls asleep waiting for his next text and in the morning wakes to his reply and another wishing her a better day.

. . .

Her contact with Steve increases in the next few days, reaching a fever pitch. They trade texts almost constantly, sometimes flirtatious, oftentimes just meandering conversation. By some unspoken mutual agreement they leave work out of the conversation. And that’s actually quite nice, because SG Rogers is quickly becoming a huge thorn in her side and not one she wants to think about more than she has to.

She has to see him constantly—he’s not going to budge and they both know it. But she’s determined, for whatever reason, to give him a fair shake. She’s hoping to avoid pulling out all the stops and really destroying the bakery to get her client the desired results.

She stops by the bakery once—Rogers is out, thankfully. But the bakery is lovely, full of wonderful smells and warmth. There’s a little coffee shop and free wi-fi; almost every mismatched table and seat is full with either college-aged students on laptops or older patrons sitting and chatting. The walls are covered in bookshelves and artwork. And the coffee shop’s pastry case is a work of art that sets Peggy’s mouth watering.

A college student works the counter—her name is Wanda according to both the nametag and her introduction as Peggy approaches. After ordering a latte, Wanda makes a face and informs her that it’s Christmas, upgrades her to a gingerbread latte, free of charge. It’s delicious.

Talking to the barista, Peggy learns all she can about the bakery. Wanda explains that she works full time there so she can get benefits, but Rogers allows—encourages even—her to work around her class schedule and do her homework whenever the place gets slow. Her coworkers, Wanda informs her, are in similar boats, students from the community college, single mothers, veterans. Peggy can’t help but find that incredibly decent.

She can understand, listening and looking around, why Rogers was hesitant to franchise; he couldn’t control if the other locations treated other employees with that same sort of decency. And quite frankly, Peggy knows that Hydra certainly wouldn’t encourage it.

But for all she respects that, it doesn’t mean Rogers isn’t a complete asshole personally. They can’t go for more than five seconds without arguing over some stupid semantic argument.

“Sounds hot,” is Angie’s pronouncement.

“It’s not,” Peggy assures her. “It’s the exact opposite of hot.”

“Nat does his bookkeeping and she says you two need to bone or something is going to catch on fire.”

“Give Natasha my condolences on her sudden loss of sight, hearing, and reason.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Well, good. Steve’s a good guy.”

Peggy smiles at that. “I’m coming to see that.”

. . .

“Ms. Carter, as I said before—about 100 times now—not for sale. Never for sale. Take your offer and shove it up your-”

“Mr. Rogers, I’m not here to offer again. I suggest you prepare your legal counsel. Hydra is suing you for the rights to Shield.”

She hates that it has come to this. She hates feeling like she’s nothing more than a pawn.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I am not.”

She watches his face darken. He’s been an ass before, but it suddenly occurs to her how large of a man Steve is, how capable of destruction he might be.

“And they have a case,” he says, lips a non-existent line. “A case that you helped build.”

Peggy shrugs, trying to stay nonchalant. “I told you I was good.”

“Tell me,” Rogers spits out. “What it’s like to be a living, breathing person without a heart?”

Peggy’s jaw drops. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me! I’ve worked my _ass_ off trying to get you a fair settlement! I _told_ you Hydra goes for blood! You can’t _possibly_ be blaming _me_ for _your_ intense and obtuse stubbornness!”

“I _told_ you I’m not selling!”

“They aren’t even asking you to give up your shop!”

He crosses his arms across his chest—yet again Peggy’s struck by how broad his shoulders are. Once again, he steps close, crowding her, yet somehow she’s not afraid.

“My mom started Shield,” he says after a long pause. The anger is muted, which is somehow more intimidating. “With my nan’s recipes. In that building, with the money she got from my dad’s pension. He wasn’t a great guy—died only a few years after I was born. Alcohol—but at least he gave my mom her start. She hired only women escaping bad situations and they built it up together from the ground up.”

Peggy is silent—what is she supposed to say to that? She completely understands why it’s not an option for him why it goes beyond money. Her lungs feel deflated and her gaze darts away.

“Shield stands for something, Ms. Carter. We’ll never go corporate. We’re a family.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

Rogers raises a brow. “You didn’t ask.”

Suddenly, Peggy turns on her heel. She feels sick. “I- I have to go.”

. . .

At home, she paces before picking up her phone. Her text conversation with Steve is her most recent one.

>Tell me something good.

It’s not ten seconds before he’s typed back:

>>Bad day?

She sighs, pouring herself two fingers of bourbon. It’s not even a wine night this evening.

>You ever wonder if you’re on the wrong side of history?

>>Every day. I can’t image you would be though. Are you okay?

Peggy considers spilling all of it, telling him everything, but then thinks better of it. She already hates herself a bit; no need to make Steve hate her too.

>Just work issues. I’ll be alright. Tell me about your day.

He doesn’t answer for a long while. Long enough for Peggy to polish off her bourbon and pour more.

>>It was long. A little emotional. I’m just happy to be sitting with a beer and your company.

>I’ll drink to that.

. . .

“Look, I’m not saying you shouldn’t, I’m just saying, this Rogers guy sounds hot.”

Peggy groans. “Angie, I can’t take any more of this interrogation.”

“So make a choice. Christmas is coming!”

“A choice?”

“Steve. Rogers. Pick one.”

“Oh my God, Angie. First of all, just because Rogers runs an insanely benevolent company does not mean that he isn’t the world’s biggest jerk! Secondly, Steve hasn’t so much as asked my last name. A date is hardly forthcoming.”

“You should stop by tomorrow morning.”

“Why?” Peggy’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Steve delivers in the morning.”

“Delivers?”

“He’s one of my suppliers. You guys haven’t even talked about that?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh, come on, Peg. You can’t expect me to do _all_ your work!”

“I’ve been swamped.”

“That’s no excuse. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“You will not.”

Angie just raises an eyebrow.

. . .

She thinks about going to meet Steve. But the shit hits the fan that morning—Hydra’s in-house lawyers, apparently unsatisfied with her work—have gone behind her back and filed the suit.

She’s greeted by a fuming Rogers. For the first time, Peggy sees a formidable opponent—he’s almost frightening; he’s angry enough to not be conscious of how close he is.

“I had nothing to do with that,” Peggy promises. “And quite frankly, Mr. Rogers, I could bring you up on charges of trespassing, not to mention bring your attempt to intimidate me into dropping the suit to the judge’s attention.”

“So that’s what gets you going, is it?” Rogers spits out. “Bullying family-run operations into submission.”

“I don’t-”

“I googled you, Margaret. Your track record is impressive—nine wins for Hydra—nine communities thrown out of their homes because rent hikes made their rent impossible to afford.”

Peggy’s jaw drops—is he _really_ blaming her for gentrification? “I’ve done no such thing! My responsibility is to my client-”

He cuts her off. “In the past five cases, you acquired business—local owned. Hydra franchised, hiked the rent on the building until the owner had to sell. Your _client_ has evicted entire buildings. So either you’re responsible or you’re an idiot.”

It’s a scathing indictment. One that hits home. She feels sick that she might have had any hand in the dirty work.

Peggy swallows, looks down. She doesn’t have the high ground here. “I- I’m sorry,” she whispers. “You’re right.”

Rogers seems taken aback by that. She doesn’t blame him—Peggy’s never been great at admitting fault.

“I hope you believe me when I say I’ve just been willfully blind. I chose not to follow up with my work. It’s my fault. But I didn’t act maliciously and I _tried_ to get every owner a good deal.”

Peggy’s not sure what makes it so important that Rogers believe her. But she wants him to know she’s not an awful person.

He crosses his arms. “Shield is all that stands between that block and cheap renovations and hiked prices. Hydra can throw whatever they like at me. I won’t budge.”

The line of his jaw is solid—immovable and sharp. Peggy’s suddenly keenly aware of his body, how close they are. He is devastatingly handsome but that is beside the point. His words are more important.

“Excuse me,” she says, and feels entirely cowardly as she runs yet again.

. . .

Phillips looks annoyed but unsurprised to see her. He waves her in with a grumble.

“I quit, sir.”

That gets his attention. “What?”

“I quit. I got into law to make a difference, not to line company coffers. Somewhere along the way, I forgot myself. I appreciate all you and SSR have done for me, but I can’t do this anymore.”

He’s silent. Peggy’s afraid he’s going to start steaming at the ears, but then he reaches into his desk and pulls out an envelope.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“Reference letter. It’s about damn time, Carter.”

“Mr. Phillips-” Peggy’s almost a little choked up.

“You’re a hell of a lawyer, Carter. It’ll be a shame to see you go, but you’re wasted here.”

She takes the letter, head bowed. Walking to the door, she stops as he says her name.

“Sir?”

“Don’t forget to send a Christmas card, alright? The missus would like it.”

Peggy nods sharply. “Certainly, sir.”

. . .

>I quit my job today.

Her screen is blank for too long. Peggy pours herself a whiskey, neat, tossing it back.

>> Good or bad?

>Good I think? Slightly terrifying. I don’t have anything lined up. That’s never happened to me.

She imagines his fingers hovering over the keys as he contemplates his response.

>>You should enjoy it. Take some time. Travel. Do new things.

Peggy walks through her apartment in flannel pajamas, new whiskey in one hand, phone in the other.

>My place isn’t even decorated for Christmas. I haven’t had time. It’s depressing.

>>Do you have decorations?

>Somewhere…

She has enough time to finish her drink while the three little dots appear and disappear four times.

>>I’d offer up my services as a decorator- they’re excellent by the way-if I knew where to go.

The whiskey hits her hard—suddenly she realizes she’s not eaten since her granola and yogurt for lunch.

>Angie says we should meet up- and as previously discussed, she is very intimidating. And as it so happens my calendar just freed up.

There’s a breathless moment as she waits. Then:

>>Coffee tomorrow? 9-ish? Angie’s?

>I’ll see you then.


End file.
